Madness Rising
by Swishyfish2003
Summary: In the few months that Bane rules over Gotham, before the return of Batman, a turf war has started. The Joker wants his city back, and he's found himself a bargaining chip. Nyssa Raatko is the adopted sister of Talia, but is she really worth anything as leverage in a city already set to blow? Set in TDKR. Rated for torture. Why isn't there a genre setting for 'Kick-ass Showdown?
1. Prologue

~Prologue~

Sterile, white, padded walls, lighting that was just barely too bright, and a harsh, almost deafening silence. This place was as opposite and contrary to the man who inhabited it as rain was to wildfire. He sat with his back against the soft wall, staring at the one and only entrance to the room, watching for any sign of movement through the tiny, bullet-proof glass window in the door. He was wrapped snug and safe (or so they hoped) in a straight jacket, however the restraining material could not keep his nervous energy contained.

He sat crouched, like an animal waiting for its prey to inch a little closer, his back hunched, his tongue darting in and out of his hideously scarred mouth like a nervous tick, and one foot tapping, almost as if he couldn't tolerate to be still for even a moment. A low growl escaped from his throat, if for no other reason than to interrupt the unbearable silence.

They hadn't let him keep his 'war paint' of course. It was removed well before the trial. He had to look pretty for his mug shot after all. However his scars kept smiling even after the red paint was washed away, and his eyes were still dark rimmed, like the eyes of a man that's never known sleep. Or perhaps the black kohl had seeped into his skin, staining it grey forever.

The trial itself was short as these things go. The defense had no difficulty pushing through the insanity plea, though there was some small deliberation over whether to send him to Blackgate at first. But in the end Arkham was decided on as home sweet home. However at that point it was believed most people just wanted the clown at Arkham so they could forget about him.

See, things were changing around Gotham. The Dent Act, passed so shortly after the death of the city's 'White Knight', was emptying Arkham of its criminally insane, filling Blackgate to the brim instead. But that wasn't the only interesting news being printed at the time. No, most interesting of all was the news of the Batman's little crime spree.

Oh, but he knew the truth about that. He knew the blood on the Dark Knight's gloved hands belonged on Dent. He had planned it that way. But no, the Bat and the Commissioner were ever scheming, and plotting, and they unraveled his little game.

And oh how angry he had been…

To think that Batman had gotten the better of him after all. Though he took some small consolation in the fact that the city now hated their true hero, and celebrated the killer, it was still only a runner-up prize to what could have been his gold medal. And to add the final rub of salt in his now festering wounds, the Batman had disappeared.

He had promised the vigilante that their games would go on forever. But it appears that the Bat choose to duck out of the show early. And now what was he supposed to do? Rot in Arkham it appears, just as the citizens of Gotham hoped.

The anger boiled in him again, along with the absurdity. A picture played in his mind of the Batman hunkered down in a cave somewhere, sitting on a sofa watching day time television the rest of his life.

"There is no me without you…" He said in almost inaudible whisper, followed by a low, grunting chuckle that didn't stop, but grew in volume and violence until the Joker was screaming in uncontrollable laughter.

It was then that a shadow moved behind the door, and a figure could be seen through the small round window. The door opened, and one of the last remaining Doctors of Arkahm Asylum entered. He stood calmly studying the medical notes on a clipboard, and waited for the fit to be over. He was used to this by now.

It only took a moment for the Joker to calm himself. He had been waiting for the good Doctor to call on him after all.

"Evening Jerry." He drawled.

"Dr. Arkham." he corrected his patient calmly, looking up from his clipboard. "I've told you before, not even my wife calls me Jerry."

His doctor was always so patient, so understanding, just as any good shrink should be. But that's what made pressing his buttons so much more fun…

"Ah, that's right. She moans out 'OH _Dr. Jeremiah Arkham_!' all night in bed. I forgot." He giggled.

Arkham didn't rise to the bait however, and remained as infuriatingly calm as ever. Completely ignoring the comment he asked, "And how was your week in solitary patient _4479_?"

Tit for tat. The Joker didn't miss the emphasis put on his patient number. Seeing as he had no existing records, and thus no name besides Joker, the number was the only form of identification the asylum staff had to refer to him with, despite their patient's obvious dislike for it. Simply a number in the masses, how utterly mundane.

"Oh just peachy. Better then Tommy-boy's week at least I'm sure. How did the plastic surgery go?" He asked with a dark grin.

Arkham pulled out a pocket recorder and with a click spoke in quick monotone into the device. "Subject still shows no remorse over violent actions."

"Hey, why should I feel bad? He asked me to bite him. Oh-_so_-nicely too…"

The doctor pocketed his recorder again and addressed his patient. "You should be happy to know that your little antic with Mr. Thomas Bart has gained the public eye once again. He's suing the asylum, and it has been decided that more _stringent_ security measures need to be in place concerning your care here."

Arkhams tone sounded annoyed, and slightly regretful. "The City has decreed that your medication needs to be upped. And that you should be kept under sedation whenever possible. Any hope of you making progress in therapy sessions is considered secondary now to the safety of the public and the staff here."

"Aw and I was almost beginning to feel sane again doc."

Arkham sighed, "I am not generally one to give up on my patients, even the vexing ones," Joker pulled a mockingly innocent face, "however, my hands are tied in this case. You'll be starting your new medication regimen this evening."

Dr. Arkham turned to leave the room, but paused at the door, ready for his patient's next question. It was the same question he asked the doctor at the end of every conversation.

"Any interesting news?" he asked in a low voice.

Jeremiah did not like to encourage a patient's obsessions; however, he knew in this case the key to the little compliance they got from the Joker was to tell him the truth.

"Still no sightings."

And with that he exited the padded cell.

Joker finally surrendered to the silence of the room, lost in whatever shambled mess the man called thought.

* * *

**AN: I can only hem and haw over this for so long. So I'm finally posting it. Constructive criticism is always appreciated, because I'll be damned if I didn't read this a million times and realized I made some stupid error after I published it lol.**

**Joker's patient number (4479) is indeed a nod to The Joker Blogs. For those of you who caught that kudos, for those who don't get the reference, check them out on Youtube, they are pretty good. (And as a side note, the creators of TJB have said that the number is based on Ledgers birth date 4/4/79)**

**I don't know if I'd like to tag a song with each chapter for this story, as more often than not there really won't be one that fits, or is inspired by one, but I will give this chapter 'Deranged' by Coheed and Cambria, as the line "There is no me without you" was lifted directly from the song, and well, it's kinda the Jokers theme song from Arkham City lol.**

**The next chapter (Whenever I get sick of hemming and hawing over that one too) will kick off at the beginning of TDKR, and will introduce Nyssa. Before I get there though, I have a few notes to share about her. Nyssa Raatko is a character from DC comics. In the comics she is daughter to Ra's al Ghul, and half sister to Talia al Ghul. However, for this story I've chosen to change quite a few things about the character.**

**I specifically did not make her related to the al Ghuls by blood because long-lost-relative characters tend to annoy me sometimes. Even when these characters show up in canon (I'm looking at you Daken and X-23). So I did this to try and make her feel a little more natural/plausible to the story. I also changed her personality around quite a bit, though there are a few elements I kept, so you can see why I'm tagging her as an OC. **

**Hopefully the next chapter will be finished in a reasonable amount of time. .;**


	2. The Fire Rises

**I guess I should have gotten this out of the way in the first chapter, but oh well, here goes:**

**Thar be TDKR spoilers ahead! Really though, if you haven't seen the movie yet, and your reading fanfiction, you're just asking to run into spoilers, so stop it, and just go watch the damn movie.**

* * *

_Eight years later_

It was nearly midnight, down an empty, grungy alley, and in a bad part of town. Most people would agree this was a stupid place to meet someone. However, the common rapists and thugs of Gotham would be lucky to steer clear of this alley tonight, because of just who Nyssa was waiting to meet. Still, until her escort arrived, she nervously fingered the pocket knife stashed in her coat.

It was a small thing. City ordinance forbade blades any longer than four inches, unless you carried a permit. But Nyssa's blade didn't need to be long. It just needed to be sharp. Sharp enough to slice the skin, and deliver the poison coating the blade into the bloodstream of a would-be attacker. For all the things Nyssa couldn't do right while she'd trained under her adopted family, she had still learned how to effectively use poisons at least.

Nyssa shivered as a chilly breeze swept through the dark alley. Pursing her thin lips, she pulled the hood of her coat over her short dark hair, and sniffed, rubbing her elongated, aquiline nose, attempting to return heat to it. No, she had never turned out to be the skilled assassin her trainers tried to make her. Though a part of her had wanted to succeed, to make Talia and Ra's proud, and prove to them she was grateful that they took her in. However her mind would not absorb the training and her body was slow and clumsy.

Sure some of the training stuck. And were she to be jumped tonight in this place, she could at least put up a fight to defend herself, but she would never be in the same level as even the roughest footman of the League. But none of that mattered anymore. Ra's was gone, Talia and Bane lead the League of Shadows, and everything was different now.

Nyssa looked down to check her watch. As she did a shadow detached itself from the landing of a fire escape, and as smooth and quick as a cat, landed behind her with a quiet thud. Her hand dove back into her pocket, grabbing the knife, and flipping the blade out. But it was too late. Before the blade could even be pointed in the direction of the threat, the muzzle of a gun was resting on her shoulder.

"Neglecting your training?"

The quiet voice was steady and _almost_ emotionless, with only the smallest tinge of humor, which most people would not have caught. It was also familiar. Nyssa let out the breath she had been holding, and turned to face Barsad, her guide.

"What training?" she sighed in annoyance, her smile ruining the effect. Since the moment she'd gained her independence she had not done anything to sharpen the few skills she'd managed to acquire in her youth, besides the occasional yoga class, or the meditation she did in the quiet of her own home from time to time. Talia had taken Ra's al Ghul's death hard, and in her own way Nyssa had grieved for him as well. But he had never been as close with her, so when Talia and Bane had returned to the League, and asked Nyssa what she wished to do, she decided it was time to leave. She asked to move to America, to get a formal education. And none of these plans encompassed stealth, or speed exercises.

The mercenary grunted and meandered off deeper into the alley. Nyssa followed, glad she was no longer alone in the decrepit place. They stopped only a short distance down, at a manhole. Barsad knelt down behind an overturned trash can and brought forth a crowbar, then used it to pry open the sewer cover.

"Down we go." He nodded to the dark opening, waiting for Nyssa to go first.

Though she had to admit going into the sewers was not at the fore of her desires tonight, she had known that wherever Bane had set up his base of operations would be somewhere out of the way. Without complaint, Nyssa lowered herself into the hole, toe reaching for the rung of a ladder, and finding it, began to descend. She reached the bottom quickly, and to her relief stepped off onto concrete, and not into sludge like she had worried. When Barsad stood beside her, he took her by the upper arm to help lead her in the blackness, and they made their way into the bowels of the city.

Eventually they reached a stretch of tunnels that were dimly lit, and Barsad released her arm. The faint sound of rushing water reached her ears. It was soon after this that they came across the first sign of the League's presence. A small group of patrolling mercenaries, clothed in military fatigues, and armed with automatic weapons. They nodded absently at Barsad, ignoring her completely, and continued in the direction the pair had come. In passing interest Nyssa noticed that only three of the five men had the rough look of a trained and seasoned assassin that the initiated had. The other two were really just boys. Perhaps seventeen or eighteen, and had the scruffy look of street punks.

"Two of those men were not of the League." Nyssa stated, her brown eyes questioning Barsad.

"Gotham's corrupt economy provides us with an almost unlimited supply of expendable soldiers." He replied simply.

Nyssa nodded grimly. She had only been in Gotham for five years, but she understood that life in the great city was as difficult as ever for its citizens. Sure, the Dent Act had all but cleared the streets of the mob, however, there were still hundreds of desperate men and women on the streets, and when the mob wasn't around to offer work, they would find it in other ways.

Soon the sound of rushing water grew louder, and the two turned a corner to find the entrance to a vast underground system. Ramps, stairs, and ladders lined the sides of the huge space, connecting multiple levels, and various tunnels leading into other unknown parts of the undercity. Two large streams of runoff water raced from huge pipes, falling into an underground river, and flowing out of sight.

On one of the levels Nyssa noticed a great deal of activity. More scruffy homeless looking men and teens appeared to be excavating the site, jackhammers sounded, and workers carried buckets of earth and gravel away to be disposed of. Grim-faced mercenaries watched over the work, large guns in hand.

Two such men stood at the entrance Barsad and Nyssa walked through, and fell in line behind them as they passed, two other men filling their now vacant position. Nyssa looked back at their escort curiously, noticing one was clearly another Gothamite hire-on. This man was different then the teenagers they had passed in the tunnels though. He looked a little more ragged, with dirty stubble shadowing his face, a receding hairline, and dark, greasy hair. However, he also looked more dangerous. His eyes flashed to her as she glanced at him, they looked slightly vacant, and haunted, like the eyes of a man that did not live fully in his right mind. One corner of his mouth turned up in a chilling smirk, and Nyssa was quick to face forward again, moving closer to Barsad as they walked.

Finally they reached a narrow catwalk that crossed between the twin streams of falling water, leading to a recessed platform. The space was like a cave that had been refurbished into living quarters complete with bookshelves, desks, and cots. A few other men occupied the space, cleaning and repairing weapons, or mixing powders, but they ignored Nyssa, and she barely noticed them. The two people she had come to meet with had her full attention.

Striding forward quickly, Nyssa left Barsad and her two other escorts behind and walked across the make-shift command center to embrace a woman that stood there in a dark hooded sweater, and simple jeans. Talia hugged her back tightly. For five years Nyssa had been living in Gotham to be closer to her adopted sister, who had taken up a life and alias here some time before that, however for all they actually got to see each other, they might have still lived in separate parts of the world. Talia had created the identity of Miranda Tate, a wealthy philanthropist, while residing in Gotham. Just another part of her and Banes intricate plan to finally fulfill her father's work. However the effort of maintaining that disguise kept Talia very busy.

Finally pulling away from the hug, Nyssa looked over Talia's shoulder at the massive form standing just behind her, clad in a thick, bullet-proof vest, militant clothing, and heavy boots. However it was the mask that got the attention of all who looked upon Bane. A huge, metal and rubber contraption that covered half of the man's face, and looked like the muzzle of some hellish beast. A mask that dragged painful memories to the front of Nyssa's mind.

_The room was hazy, and dark with predawn. The smell of smoke assaulted her nose, and filled her lungs, and the sound of villagers screaming outside terrified the seven-year-old girl huddled alone in the corner. Her father and brother lay near the doorway. They weren't moving. Nyssa wanted to go to them, to hug her father and have him tell her it was all going to be ok, but she was too afraid. The men were still in the house; she could hear them in the other room of the tiny hut, only a thin, thread-bare blanket covered the doorway, and she could also still hear her mother in there with them, sobbing quietly._

_A sudden gunshot sounded from the room like thunder, causing Nyssa to flinch violently, and the sounds of her mother crying ceased. The men soon emerged from behind the door covering, moving quickly to the exit. However one happened to look around, and saw her. Nudging the others they turned, and another gun was produced. Nyssa could only stare at them, wide-eyed, like a small animal caught in a bright light. It was then Nyssa saw the shadows of the room shift, though the men did not. Still quaking in terror the girl watched as two wraiths clothed in darkness moved behind the men, and with quick efficiency killed two of them, the third turned to the doorway to run as soon as he saw his companions hit the ground._

_The man never made it however, because the exit of the hut was blocked by a massive figure. He ran into the beast in the doorway, and fell to the ground, almost comically, before the masked man brought one giant foot down on the soldier's neck with a grunt, and a snap. Nyssa stared up in terror at the new threat that stood over her. However, one of the figures in black stepped between them, cutting off her line of vision, and removed the mask covering a soft, feminine face. She was only a young woman, no older then her brother, who had been seventeen. Having a face to put to the dark figure, and finding it to be a human one, Nyssa finally broke, and a sob tore from her chest._

_The young woman clothed in shadow made a soft shushing noise, and scooped the terrified child up, holding her close. Arms wrapped around a warm neck, and chin propped up on a firm, comforting shoulder, Nyssa cried._

Standing before him now, Nyssa looked up from the terrifying mask on Banes face, and into the expressive, gunmetal gray eyes she knew. It had taken a long time for the seven-year-old Nyssa to trust the man with a face of steel, but now, she trusted him with her life.

Unexpectedly Bane reached out and took her in a light, one armed hug. The act startled her, as even when she was a child, living with Talia and him, learning from them, Bane had never hugged her. It suddenly drove home to her the fact that this was it. After tonight she would never see them again. She would be leaving in a few days time, and they would be staying to finally bring Gotham down. And they would go down with it.

Nyssa pushed back the emotion that rose in her chest as the short embrace broke, determined not to disappoint her surrogate family with tears now. Instead she turned the corners of her lips up in a small smile.

"I missed you teacher." She mustered in a voice she was happy didn't quaver. Teacher was what she had called Bane ever since he had taken it upon himself to instruct her to read and write, just as he had for Talia.

"Enjoying the American life-style I see." His voice came out clear despite the contraption covering his mouth, and was accompanied with a mechanical hiss, the slight crinkling of the corners of his eyes the only indication of a smile.

Nyssa grimaced sheepishly, knowing full well Bane referred to the extra padding she had put on, especially around her hips.

"My interests these days have gone more towards the intellectual, you have no one to blame but yourself." She quipped quietly at him.

"We are both just glad you are well Nyssa." Talia interjected. She sounded tired, but hid it well. Nyssa knew what the other woman risked just by meeting them down here. Miranda Tate's part in their plans was essential, and she needed to play her character perfectly. "But we have much to discuss tonight, and not much time to do it in."

Talia led her to a small dilapidated table covered in blueprints, and papers, and sat in one of the small rickety chairs, motioning for Nyssa to do the same, as Bane dismissed Barsad and the two other men who had led Nyssa in with a few quiet words before joining them.

"There is not much I need to tell you at this time," Talia started "We have secured the physicist, so Banes original plan is still in motion. Soon I will have access to the reactor, once I do, you will have a small window of time in order to leave Gotham in."

Talia paused to look carefully at Nyssa, then continued, "Unless you decide to stay with us."

Nyssa stared stonily at her hands, carefully folded in her lap before speaking.

"I will go." She answered simply, and this time her voice did falter.

"There is nothing for you do here in any case." Bane stated frankly. "It will be better for you to be out of the way."

Nyssa blanched inwardly at the blunt truth laid before her. Even if she had wanted to stay the last few months her family would be on this planet, and die with them, she would be useless.

"Also," Talia cut through Nyssa's thoughts, "there is the matter of the League itself."

Nyssa looked back up at the older woman, fearing she knew what was coming next.

"The League of Shadows _will_ live on." She continued. "Bane and I have chosen Ubu to take over after us, though we wish there was a better warrior to take Ra's al Ghul's place, Ubu will at least lead well. However, we would like to see you rejoin the League."

Talia held up a hand as Nyssa opened her mouth to protest.

"Even as an uninitiated, you will be useful to the League. You know our father's ideals as well as I do, and would be adept at teaching them. You could help Ubu lead, and," Talia studied her adopted sister's eyes carefully, "Ubu would make an acceptable mate for you as well."

Nyssa was careful to not blurt out her refusal immediately. She went back to studying her lap carefully before answering.

"I wish to continue my education here in the United States. I'm very close to being finished, and," she struggled to word her next sentence carefully, "I feel there will be nothing left for me with the League without you."

Nyssa bit down on her tongue, fearing that if she didn't, all the other reasons she never wanted to return to the League would spill out. The fact that she did not want to spend the rest of her life planning the ruination of empires, that she could never bring herself to even think of marrying Ubu, and most of all, that she secretly hated the League, and all it's 'ideals' for ripping away from her the only family she had left.

"I expected you would refuse." Talia sighed. "Very well. Do you know where you plan to go then Nyssa?"

The question was almost asked as a challenge, as if the real matter was if Nyssa knew _what_ she would be doing after this. Which besides the finishing of her education, she didn't. If Nyssa could choose she would spend the rest of her life learning really. There was always so much more to know in the world.

"I'll be moving back to Seattle to finish my education," she answered confidently. This much, at least, was already planned. She had loved Seattle during the two years she lived there, right after she moved to the States. When Talia had finally come to Gotham, Nyssa immediately joined her, but she hated the corrupt, rotting city almost immediately.

Talia seemed satisfied enough with the answer, though still visibly annoyed that Nyssa planned to stay in America. She reached across the table and pulled a small messenger bag towards herself. From it she received a black leather check book, and handed it to Nyssa.

"I've set up a bank account for you to ensure you are provided for. You should also know that I have left provision with Ubu that should you desire to remain in the US, you will always be kept loosely under the watchful eye of the League. And do remember, that if ever you change your mind, you will always be welcome with them."

Nyssa took the check book numbly, aware that their time together was coming to a close, and not sure how to feel about being under the constant supervision of the League. She opened the small black object to find a fresh stack of checks, and a debit card, all with her name on them.

Bane's mechanical voice brought her attention away from the items "When you get home tonight, begin packing. Talia will call you the day before the city is taken. There will be a private jet ready for you when the time has come."

With that he and Talia stood as one, and Nyssa reluctantly followed suit.

"Barsad will take you home." Bane said quietly.

Nyssa nodded slowly, and embraced her family one last time before turning to find Barsad already back, and waiting to lead her out.

* * *

**AN: Joker's back in the next chapter. Until then, some feedback on how I did with Nyssa would be greatly appreciated. I tried to introduce her thoroughly enough in this chapter without making this a laundry list, but I feel like I may have droned on some.**

**Any comments with constructive criticism on the character, or anything I should fix/clarify about her will be met with internet thank you cookies. Though I didn't go through her entire history as I'm trying not to write a powerful sedative here, I shall share more of her history in later chapters. ;)**


	3. Wake Up

**I updated the last chapter, and tweaked a few things I didn't like in there. Including a terribly funny grammar mistake I didn't notice the million times I proofread it. (Ally=/=Alley) Hilarious because this is a TDKR fic with Bane in it: "Oh, so you think the alley is your ally..."**

**So if you want to go reread it I encourage it. If not, I didn't add any purple panda's or anything, so there's that.**

* * *

It was just another night at the asylum, quiet, boring, and dusty. Stephanie Dia, one of the last four nurses left on staff, sat at a table in the rec room, absently playing with an escaped lock of graying hair, and putting together a puzzle of (ironically) a clown. The two orderlies on staff this night lounged in a couple of chairs at the same table playing cards. And the last remaining patient of Arkham Asylum, patient 4479, the once menacing, and blood thirsty scourge of Gotham, sat on a couch in front of the television, drooling into his straightjacket no doubt.

Dia had been working at Arkham for almost twenty years; the huge asylum had at one point employed hundreds of men and women. However, over the years the courts managed to get every convict, and nut job pulled from the asylum, and moved to Blackgate Prison, and as the patients departed, so did the funding, and so did the staff. Now there was just enough staff left to take care of Arkham's final and permanent patient, the Joker.

Steph shivered slightly at the thought of the alias the prisoner had once been known as. Eight years these walls have held the mad man. She remembered what he was like when she first saw the footage he'd sent into the news, and she remembered what he was like when they first dragged him into the asylum. Now, he was little more than a catatonic vegetable, the combination of antipsychotics, sedatives, and solitary confinement having done their job over the years.

Dia had asked Dr. Arkham at one point why the courts even bothered to leave him in the asylum. If they were so worried, why not move him to Blackgate with the rest. He had responded that locking the Joker up with no audience to perform for had probably been the most effective way to keep the man in order. Alone, bored, and forgotten. He was an entertainer without a soul to entertain.

Not that Dia felt the need to complain. It certainly made her job easier, and took the edge off of what had once been a very dangerous, high stress job. Jeremiah Arkham on the other hand, had taken the loss of all his patients very hard. The psychiatrist was now officially the last remaining doctor of Arkham, being the owner of the asylum, but even he rarely bothered to show up most days. Currently he and his wife were out of town on vacation. Stephanie thought he could use it though. The man seemed to be in a kind of depression these days.

"Should we put him to bed Steph?" Greg, one of the orderlies asked absently as he thumbed the cards in his hand, rearranging them to his liking.

She looked over her shoulder at the back of the patients head. He stared forward at the T.V. blankly, eyes not really watching whatever infomercial played on the tube at the time.

"No, we'll give it another half hour. I don't want to deal with moving and medicating him just yet." She responded, snapping another puzzle piece in place.

Though the prisoner had not caused any problems in well over five years, there were still a number of safety protocols that had to be followed during particular points of the day, moving him being one of them.

The sound coming from the television suddenly changed from the quiet drone of a man demonstrating how a new miracle cleanser worked, to the familiar, brief tune of the Gotham Cable News opening.

_We interrupt your programming to bring you breaking news_…

The announcement on the television caused all three staff members to turn their attention in the direction of the screen at once. The familiar GCN set was now on the screen, and a very grim faced reporter spoke to the viewers.

"…hostage situation. It is unclear at this point just what they are after, but we are informed by police that they have the building surrounded, and are trying to contact the leader of the group to ascertain what their demands are."

"The flying fuck is going on now?" Greg asked no one in particular, standing from the table and moving closer to the television.

Steph followed, sitting on the sofa in front of the screen. She spared a look for the patient next to her, and seeing him still staring ahead emotionlessly, turned her attention back to the television set.

The screen switched to a view of the Gotham stock exchange building, showing multiple police vehicles parked haphazardly around in the blocked off streets, and a SWAT truck trying to pull in. Suddenly the doors of the building opened, and people began to march slowly out of the building, hands raised in the air.

"They're letting the hostages go? They couldn't already have what they were after could they?" Wes, the other orderly, questioned.

Stephanie shrugged absently, although her coworker was too engrossed in the scene unfolding to notice. It had been a long time since anything this high profile had gone down in Gotham. Crime was still as persistent as ever of course, but not for eight years had anything as alarming as this displayed on the news. Dia had no idea exactly how stock exchanges worked, but she did know if someone were to foul things up bad enough in one, it wouldn't be good for Gotham's already rocky economy.

The three asylum staff members watched in apprehension, a muffled rumbling sound could be heard from behind the carefully exiting hostages. All at once the crowd of terrified people parted, and several motorcycles rocketed from the building doors, shooting past the police cruisers, and launching off the ramps that had been lifted in the streets. The camera man tried in vain to get a good shot of the escaping bikes, but all the viewers at home saw was a line of colorful blurs before they sped out of sight.

Dia watched numbly as the screen switched back to the anchor, who promised to have footage via helicopter as soon as the getaway route of the villains was determined. Time ticked by as a news reporter at the scene rehashed the events, and reported on the number of injuries and deaths. Suddenly the GCN anchor interrupted him, reporting that the helicopter had located the escaping criminals. The screen switched again, this time to footage being shot from the air of the bikers, who had just emerged from the midtown tunnel.

"And reports are coming in that the Batman, yes, _the Batman_ may have been sighted! It is unknown at this time if it's really him, and if it is, whether he is at all connected with the men at the stock exchange, but-"

The anchor suddenly cut himself off as a dark figure burst from the tunnel after the bikers, long, black cape flapping in the wind, and fast on the tail of the men from the stock exchange.

"Ladies and gentlemen viewing from home," The anchor's voice was almost hushed in awe, "it appears the reports have been confirmed…"

-0-

Awareness prodded at him irritatingly in the comfortable haze. Something had caught his attention, and now it was dragging him out, slowly clearing his blissfully incoherent mind. As rationality began to penetrate his thoughts he realized that the drugs must be wearing off, but he didn't know why he had this feeling that he should be paying attention to something.

The drugs have worn off before, and his response to the empty, quiet reality he came back to was usually to just go to sleep. However now, there was something that was begging for his attention. It was whatever had triggered the ascent from his drug induced stupor to begin with. It was a word, no, a name. Hmm, that still seemed wrong, an ideal?

Then he heard it said again, and comprehension finally broke through.

_Batman_.

That's what he'd heard said, but before it had come from in front of him. A television sat in his line of vision, images flashing enthusiastically across the screen. He couldn't discern just what yet, his thoughts still swimming in molasses. The second time the word had been spoken from beside him though, from a man in a white uniform who stood in his peripheral vision. An orderly. That's right, he was still in Arkham…

Thoughts finally clicking together more rapidly, the Joker's sharp, dark eyes focused on the screen before him with intensity. The scene unfolding before him was finally beginning to make sense. The black figure ripped down a stretch of highway, illuminated by a spotlight. It was clear at this point there was a host of police in pursuit of the speeding shadow; however, Joker didn't need this as proof that it was the real Dark Knight they were seeing. He could tell just by looking at the way the Bat moved. Besides, who else in Gotham owned a motorcycle like that?

The concept of time was very slippery to the Joker at this moment. He couldn't remember how long it had been since he'd seen the Batman. But he did feel like it's been a while, maybe even too long. He does, however, distinctly recall knowing this moment would arrive. He and the Batman were cut from the same cloth after all. He knew Batman wouldn't be able to resist performing for an audience again. Just what the hell took him so long though?

Regardless, this meant only one thing to the Joker now, naptime was over. He felt fully rested, and ready to join the Batman in providing Gotham with the best show the city's ever seen. Unnoticed by the three staff members surrounding him, the Joker smiled. If they weren't so preoccupied with the chase scene unfolding on the news, they might have realized that the chill going up their spines was emanating from a much closer source.

_Can Batman come out to play now?_

_-0-_

They almost didn't hear the laugh at first. The T.V. had been turned up slightly, so as not to miss a single report from the anchorman who gave a blow-by-blow description of the chase, and any little shred of information received by witnesses, and the tight-lipped GCPD.

It had started to build in volume, and turned from a chuckle, into something that could nearly be described as barking madness. All three heads slowly turned in the same direction as the sound filled the room, and wrapped around each Arkham staff member like greasy razor wire. They could only sit in silence for several moments, as the Joker rocked back and forth in mirth.

Dia had not heard that laugh in several years now, however, the effect it had on her was the same as it had been the last time she'd heard it so long ago.

"Greg, go get the sedatives…" she murmured to the orderly behind her, suddenly aware of her proximity to the madman across the couch from herself.

"No thanks, I'm not sleepy anymore."

The laughing stopped so quickly no one in the room even had a chance to breathe, as the scarred face of the man whipped in Stephanie's direction, eyes dangerously hard, and sharp.

"But you look like you could use a little rest yourself nurse," he noted, cracking a wide smile once again.

All at once he was in motion, flying across the couch towards Steph as if he'd been launched from a springboard. Impossibly his arms flew out before him, the long sleeves of his straightjacket flying. How the hell did he unfasten his damn arms? Stephanie thought as she was gripped in a cold panic.

As the psychopath landed on her she felt the rough canvas of the jacket sleeves around her neck, and the strength of the hands inside them tighten around her throat like a vise. Her own hands shot up to try and pry the death grip from her windpipe as Wes and Greg began shouting, and grabbing the Joker in an attempt to pull him off of her.

She began to feel light headed when the grip was finally broken, and his dead weight was dragged to the ground, both men piled on top of him, pinning him down.

"Grab the sedative quick!" Wes barked as he struggled with the thrashing patient.

Stephanie coughed and gasped while she stumbled to the table they had been sitting at earlier, grabbing the white case that held the sedatives they kept with them as a precautionary whenever they had to handle the Joker, and opened it with fumbling fingers. In a blur she pulled out the syringe and bottle of medication, preparing the dose, and rushing back to the two orderlies sitting on the wildly bucking body.

Within moments the patient had been jabbed, the sedative injected, and soon the struggling began to become subdued. The three waited in trepidation until a full five minutes had passed after the Joker had stopped struggling, only then did they slowly move off of him. Steph quickly retied the straightjacket sleeves, as securely as she could, then fell back against the couch with a tiny sob.

All three sat in utter silence as they struggled to catch their breaths. The spell was finally broken as Wes stood, and grabbed the patient by the shoulders.

"Greg, get his feet," he ordered.

"Were should we take him, back to his cell?"

"Put him in a padded room," Stephanie suggested weakly. The patient cells weren't any less safe than the solitary confinement ward really, but Dia felt more secure with him there than anywhere else.

As the orderlies dragged 4479 from the rec room, Stephanie pulled out her cell phone, and dialed Dr. Arkham's number. The other line rang several times before a bleary sounding Jeremiah answered. In a voice of forced calm Dia reported the whole incident in as much detail as she could muster. The doctor did not interrupt her once, making her wonder hysterically if he had fallen asleep while she prattled on. However, by the time she'd finished, he'd never sounded more awake as he replied.

"I'm returning now, it may take me a few days to get back into the states, however," Dia could hear shuffling on the other line as the doctor got up and moved around. "I do NOT want him moved from solitary, and two orderlies must be present at all times if the room must be entered for any reason before I get there. Understood?"

Dia nodded absently, then remembering she was on a phone, mumbled out an affirmative instead before ending the call. Feeling it would be better to be doing something, rather than sitting there shaking like a leaf, she left and went to the administration office to fill out an incident report. She felt for the pen she kept in her shirt pocket, and not finding it, picked up one from the desk instead. It was unlike her not to have her pen on her, but at the moment, she was too addled to care.

And here she thought she was getting the easier job by signing up for the overnight shifts.

-0-

Three day weekends are a blessing. However, when what you have to return to after the weekend is over is the Joker, they seem a little more like the prolonging of the inevitable.

Stephanie stood in the Asylum kitchen, nursing a cup of coffee, and dragging her feet in general, however, it did her no good, as the mid-day nurse found her in there anyways.

"Hey get the lead out Steph, I need to get out of here tonight, and you know I can't leave until you punch in!" The younger woman bemoaned.

"Got some where to be tonight Debbie?" Stephanie sighed, setting down the mug, and following her coworker to the nurses' station.

"Just the hell outta here!" she grumbled.

"Please don't tell me he's acting up," Stephanie begged, now more apprehensive than ever. "I thought Dr. Arkham would have been here by now."

"He called yesterday actually, said his connecting flight got delayed 19 hours, but he should be back by tomorrow. Maybe even before you get off shift," Debbie sounded much more chipper now that Dia was punching in, and she could finally leave. "As for the patient, no, he hasn't been acting up at all since the night he attacked you, which makes it even creepier. Especially considering we've noticed his regular meds don't seem to be having the same effect anymore. We even tried sedating him this morning for breakfast-he's not been eating by the way-but it didn't even make him droopy-eyed."

The other nurse said all this in a rush as she gathered her coat and bag, almost a foot out the door already.

"He's not eating? Why-oh come on Debbie, a little more info here before you storm out?"

Debbie stopped in mid stride and turned back to the older woman in exasperation. "Look, we've known for some time that the sedatives would lose their effectiveness eventually. We just need to deal with him until Arkham gets back and can figure out what we should do. Obviously force feeding isn't an option now that we can't do it safely, but whatever, if he doesn't want to eat that's his own problem, so don't stress about it. If you ask me, you should just tell Wes and Greg to put his dinner in there and leave him alone for the night."

With that, and a curt wave, Debbie was out the door, and gone. Steph glared daggers at the vacated exit, but it didn't help her feel any better, so with a sigh, she returned to the kitchen to finish her coffee, and get 4479's dinner ready.

-0-

Wes and Greg took the tray of food down to the cell themselves. Steph was very reluctant to have to deal with the man again after her last run in, and the orderlies felt they could handle placing some food in the room by themselves. They brought along a syringe of the usual sedative, though they knew it would have little effect, it was only a safety precaution anyways, and they doubted they would need it.

Greg peered into the room via the small window in the door, and saw the patient laying in the middle of the room with his back turned to them. Depressing the intercom button on the wall next to him he spoke into the mic.

"The patient will please get up and move to the back wall."

He waited for a moment, but the man didn't even budge. Shooting an exasperated look at his colleague, he pressed the button again.

"Against the back wall or we will have to use force Patient 4479."

When the Joker still had not stirred, Greg began to get a little worried. He had been working the past three nights and knew that thus far the patient had actually been rather reasonable, though still no less frightening. Every night Greg brought the tray of food down, the man had already been sitting with his back against the wall, smiling unnervingly at them as they would enter and set the food down before immediately departing.

"I think something's wrong," he finally said, turning to Wes. "Give me the sedative, we need to go check on him."

The other orderly looked less then convinced, but handed over the syringe anyhow. The two entered the room, watching carefully for any sign of movement, however, 4479 remained as still as death, in fact, Greg couldn't even see him breathing. He knelt down next to the patient, and reached a hand out to feel for a pulse. Finding the correct spot on the neck, he pressed his fingers against the skin, and felt a heart beat bump below the surface. A steady heartbeat at first, until all at once it jumped like a jackrabbit.

Before Greg could bat an eye, their positions were reversed. Somehow he had ended up on the ground, and the patient stood over him. There was an immense pain in his throat, and he couldn't breathe, he was choking on something. The orderlies hand reached up, and grabbed an object that was protruding from his neck, pulling it out with a gush of blood, it was a pen.

With the last of his energy he looked over to see the Joker now standing over the still body of Wes. The syringe that had just seconds before been in Greg's hand was now jammed into Wes' eye. It was all so quick, Greg didn't even know if he'd heard Wes scream. As his vision frayed at the edges the last thing Greg saw was the patient grin back at him, and exit the room, a happy little skip in his step.

* * *

**AN: In answer to a guest review question: No, this will not be a romance fic. Sorry for anyone who came along hoping for one. There will however be lots of mental and physical torture and mind games. That's like romance right? (lol I keed, I keed)**

**Really though, the relationship I'm trying to lay down here between Nyssa and Bane is more of a brother/sister relationship, if anything. **

**But keep asking questions folks, and as always, I take criticism well, please feel free to throw a boot at me when you see me writing something weird. ;P**


	4. Good Luck

It was nearing ten pm by the time Melvin White walked up to his apartment building in the Narrows. The smell of garbage and rot permeated the air, but Melvin didn't notice, he was used to it by now. He'd been living in this same apartment for a little over eight years, ever since his last boss used the apartment he'd rented before to hold a few hostages. He couldn't return after that obviously, but he didn't care. Rent in the Narrows was cheaper anyways.

His new boss didn't pay much, but you had to get work where you could get it these days. Luckily Melvin had a little more experience than the homeless teenagers and crack heads who wound up in the underground following the rumors of paid work. Granted that experience was with handling weapons, and assaulting people, but it just so happened that was a useful skill to the masked mercenary.

Either way, even considering all he'd done over the course of his life, the time he's spent working for Bane has been the most nerve-wracking thus far. Bane kept a very large and devoted group of men close to him. Very few of the Gothamites he'd hired graduated from drilling into concrete and shoveling dirt, and even the few who were used for other tasks were always kept under the close eye of some of those fanatically devoted mercs that kept Bane company. Melvin saw men shot like pigs for being a little too talkative on more than one occasion.

There may be moments in Melvin's life when things don't seem to make sense. When he'd see something that may not be real, or hear voices that others don't, but at least he knew how to keep his head down, and his mouth shut. And it helped him get through his most recent job. He even managed to make a few unsteady friendships along the way with some of the mercenaries he'd worked with. Though they would never tell him anything integral to their boss' plans, he did get more information than most of the peons working down there did.

Today, however, marked the last day of work for those toiling in the sewers. The job had been winding down for the last two days, and most of the people who had finished their tasks had already been told to leave and not return. Today the last of them, even the men like Melvin who had been helping to patrol the tunnels, were dismissed without any ceremony or ado. Several mercenaries had stood at the exits while they departed, dispensing a wad of bills to each of them with one hand, while training guns at the newly unemployed workers with the other. The message was clear: Get out, and keep your mouths shut. The man who handed Melvin his pay had worked with him on several occasions. He'd smirked as Melvin passed and muttered conspiratorially for him to 'tune in for the football game tomorrow'. There was no way he'd be missing that game now.

White finally reached the level his apartment was on, and turned down the hall. He stopped in front of his door, and stared down at the knob, confusion flitted across his face. His door was slightly ajar, the flimsy excuse for a lock showing signs of being forced. Melvin wondered for a moment if he should go inside. What if the thief was still in there? Robbery was certainly more prevalent then rats in the Narrows, and there were a lot of rats in this neighborhood. But Melvin was sure there was nothing of any value in the apartment, maybe with the exception of what was hidden under the floorboards of his living room, but even Melvin didn't know for sure what that was.

He took the plunge and pushed the door open all the way, stepping into the narrow, dingy hallway beyond. He could see the light on in his living room just around the corner, and cautiously walked into the room. The space was mostly bare, except for one ratty sofa, and an old T.V. sitting on a couple of cinderblocks. However much of the room was still cluttered anyways with laundry, empty pizza boxes, and dirty dishes, some still containing rotting and moldy food. The room was dimly lit by a naked bulb hanging from the ceiling, and the only window in the apartment was boarded up due to the glass being broken, and the landlord being too cheap to fix it.

Melvin didn't pay any attention to the state of his home, however, that he was already well aware of. What had his full attention was first the number of floorboards that had been removed from their customary place and piled haphazardly across the room, and second the form that occupied his couch, examining himself in an old cracked hand mirror, while dabbing the last touches of grease paint on his face with his fingers. The Joker looked up from the mirror and smirked at him.

"Marvin old buddy. Come on in and make yourself at home."

Melvin didn't correct his old boss when he called him the wrong name. He didn't even mention how absurd it was that he was just invited to make himself comfortable in his own home. He did however manage to look slightly less than dumbfounded, and muttered somewhat hysterically under his breath.

"I knew it…under there all along…"

Only a few days before the Joker had finally been stopped by Batman, and dragged away to Arkham, he had visited the new apartment of his henchman, and deposited a large black duffle bag into an opening he'd created in the floorboards. He then explained to Melvin that he was _never_ to open, touch, or otherwise even think about the bag under his floor. The first two rules were easy to follow, as the clown scared the shit out of the ex-Arkham patient. However, the last, was a little harder, especially after the Joker was captured. As the months, and soon the years, passed, Melvin began to imagine the item under his floor as being a part of his old boss, and soon began to imagine that it _was_ the Joker, curled up snugly under the hardwood floor, biding his time until the day he would finally burst forth in violent surprise.

Melvin had even gotten into the habit of talking to his floor, filling the Joker in on the daily news, or whatever was going on in his life at the time. So now that Melvin stood staring at the Joker in the flesh, same garishly colored outfit, and the old black duffle bag empty at his feet, the idea didn't seem quite so farfetched.

"Say again?" The Joker cocked his head at Melvin, as if to hear him better from one ear.

"Under the floor-you were hiding there all along. I knew you were, it was brilliant. They'd never found you…" Melvin rambled.

Joker cocked one brow and smirked at White as if, of the two men in the room, the one _not_ wearing makeup was the crazy one. "Of course I was Marv," he said cheerily, suddenly flinging the hand mirror behind him, where it crashed on the floor somewhere behind the sofa. "By the way, you really should sweep under there more, lots of dust bunnies and little people living down there with me." He chuckled mockingly before continuing. "So, what's been going on around Gotham while I slumbered? I want all the juicy gossip."

"Well, uh, I've told you about everything that's happened since your capture already," Melvin mumbled. Observing the confused expression on the clown and recognizing it as one step away from annoyance, he tried to clarify. "I mean, whenever I came home, I told you about what was going on in the news and all," he explained rationally.

"Let's just say, for the fun of it, that you haven't, and fill me in again hmm? Humor me." The Joker began pulling knives out of the black duffle bag at his feet while he waited, laying them on the couch one at a time like he was inventorying them.

Melvin fidgeted nervously, not quite sure where to begin. "Well, a lot's gone on in eight years," he said lamely. "Uh, I think whatever Bane has been planning will go down soon…"

One black kohl circle expanded as the Joker raised his brow in curiosity. "Who?"

Right, start at the beginning. Melvin finally found a trail of thought to follow, and haltingly sputtered out everything he knew about Bane, starting with when he'd first got word of someone hiring people in the sewers, and finishing with how his last day of work ended. It was a short story, as there was really not a lot more he knew about the masked man now, than the first day he'd wound up in the underground.

"So this Bane fella is the one who brought Batman out of his little guano-covered hiding place," Joker said after a short silence in contemplation. "Can't see why, the man seems as vanilla as they come. But hey, maybe he'll keep the Bat occupied for a little while until I can grab the spotlight again."

Melvin smiled suddenly, remembering one more thing he hadn't told his old boss yet. "I don't think Batman will be a problem actually," he said with thinly veiled excitement. He paused a moment for suspense, but the only reaction he received from the Joker was his unnervingly intense gaze as he waited for him to continue.

"Uh, Bane killed the Bat," Melvin blurted out, hoping the good news would shift that penetrating black gaze from his person. After the revelation he grinned wide, and nodded franticly, sure the Joker would be pleased by the news.

"What?"

The question was deadpan, and the only smile on the man's face came from the red painted, puckered scars on his cheeks. If it were possible, Joker's already black eyes seemed to get darker as they narrowed, the whites of his eyes disappearing, leaving the only light from the pits the inhuman glint of rage. This was not the reaction Melvin had expected.

"Uh, it was, um, it was a rumor really," he stuttered helplessly. "But the guy that told me, he was one of the men who worked for Bane, he said he saw the whole fight. Of course, the only people who would know for sure are Bane and his men, but the word got out the next morning. They all said he did it. Bane killed the Batman with his own hands. Broke him in two!"

The Joker continued staring at Melvin, his tongue the only thing moving as it darted in and out of his mouth, and pushed at the scars on his cheeks from the inside. He sucked loudly on his yellow teeth, and smacked his lips. "When?"

Melvin was wringing his hands franticly. Why wasn't the boss excited? Batman was the one who'd stopped him eight years ago, not to mention the guy Joker was trying to kill in the first place. "A-about two days ago."

"Let me get this straight. This _rank amateur_ waltzes into my town, has a little fun motocrossing through the city, and then just kills the Batman?" His face was nearly blank, however Melvin could sense the subtly hidden rage bubbling beneath the surface.

"Uh, I guess…" Melvin felt like he'd somehow fallen into a 'shoot the messenger' type of situation. He wished there was some way he could redirect the Joker's anger from himself, but he knew that was impossible. There was very little Melvin had learned about the Joker after having worked for the man, but one of those things he had noticed was that the Joker was amazingly good at reading people, and he would see through any half-assed diversion Melvin could come up with in a heartbeat. The man's mind was like an Escher print. Chaotic and random at first glance, but infinitely detailed once you got a closer glimpse.

Luckily for Melvin however, the Joker's wrath already seemed to be focusing on Bane. "You said whatever he's planning is going down tomorrow?"

Melvin knew something was going to happen tomorrow at the Rogues Stadium, though whether it was a major part of Banes plans or not, he had no idea, but he nodded in assertion anyways.

"Well, it's a good thing you're unemployed now isn't it? Because I might just have work for you Marv. Maybe we'll just throw a wrench into this little, uh, _game_ he has planned."

Melvin looked unsure. "I dunno boss, have you seen this guy? He's built like a tank, and he's smart too. Not to mention Bane's got a couple hundred guys ready and willing to jump in front of a bullet for him."

"Marvin, Marvin, Marvin. There's more than one way to skin a prostitute, or was that to gut a cat?" He looked pensively into space for a moment, as if actually trying to remember the idiom, then stood up suddenly causing Melvin to flinch, and started stashing his knives in various pockets on his person. "Either way, I'll need some insurance before I go toe to toe with the guy. Something important enough to him to make a good shield, preferably a meat shield. Any of his soldiers seem very special?"

Melvin shook his head slowly. "His men will die for him, but I don't think Bane feels the same way about them." He felt very insecure about all this, and about working for the Joker again. Melvin ran with the clown before, and it had been the most disorienting experience of his life. Before then he had been wandering the streets for nearly a year, having escaped Arkham following the terrifying events in the Narrows. So at that time, working for a murderous man painted up like a circus act was the most logical course for his life.

Melvin would like to believe he'd made some progress over the years though. That he felt a little saner these days. Then again, that just might be a pile of clothes in the corner, or a man melting into the floorboards. It was hard to tell right now…

"Well come on Marv, you gotta help me out here a little bit. Give me something to work with."

Melvin snapped his attention back to his boss, and racked his memory. If Bane had anything important in his life he certainly wouldn't have shared it with the group of degenerates and tramps who did the grunt work for him. Then memory came to the rescue, and Melvin recalled the meeting Bane had several days ago.

"Wait! There might be something, uh, there were these two women he'd met with." The Joker watched him intently as he mulled over that night. "They were both kind of, Middle Eastern looking. One of them I never got the name of, but the other one, was younger, and her name was Nyssa Rat-something or other. Raatko! That's right, one of the guys said she was his student or something like that. I couldn't get a peep out of him about the other chick, and I wasn't about to get my brains blown out for being too nosey, so I dropped the whole subject right after that."

Melvin quit rambling and looked up expectantly at his grinning boss.

"That just might do the trick," he finally responded with a wink. "So, did you happen to know just how _easy_ it is to break into the DMV Marv ol' pal?"

Melvin sighed inwardly, and slowly shook his head in defeat. Apparently he had a new job, whether he wanted it or not. Hopefully this time around the boss wouldn't torch his pay.

-0-

Nyssa reclined comfortably on the battered but sturdy old sofa in her apartment, reading one of her favorite books. Her home was minimally decorated, most of the furniture showing the aged appearance of having been acquired from antique shops, and thrift stores. Her walls were barely visible behind a multitude of bookshelves, each filled with books, and only a few knickknacks here and there for decoration. The small townhouse-style building was quaint, and located about fifteen minutes from Gotham University. Quite a few students rented from apartments in this area, though Nyssa never went out of her way to get to know any of them.

At the moment her apartment showed signs of her having done some packing. However, it looked more like she had packed for a weekend excursion then a permanent rehoming. A couple of bookshelves showed gaps where they had once been full, evidence of Nyssa having removed those books she couldn't leave without. Besides the box of books that were packed away in the trunk of a rental car out front, and the two large pieces of luggage waiting at the door however, the rest of the apartment looked relatively untouched.

Nyssa knew there wouldn't be room on the jet for much luggage, and she also knew she was going to have to get out quickly when the call came, something she wouldn't be able to do bogged down with about a hundred pounds of books. Still, if she could, she would have taken all of them with her. As it was she decided to take only the books that would be difficult, or impossible to replace. All the others she would have to buy again. It was hard to believe she had managed to acquire so many books in the five years she'd lived in Gotham.

She turned the page in the book she read, eyes skimming the words while her mind wandered. She knew the book by heart, and this would be the fifth time she'd read it, but Nyssa found that just holding her old, dog-eared copy of 'To Kill a Mockingbird' made her feel a little less fretful as she waited for Talia's call.

This was the first book she had ever read in English. Bane had found the copy somewhere and given it to her to help her pick up the language. She remembered how proud of herself she had been when she finally finished the book, and then turned back to page one, reading it all over again in celebration of having mastered the difficult tongue. Now she spoke English, French, Greek, and Latin, as well as Arabic, her first language.

Nyssa happily caressed a page of the book as her mind wandered even further afield.

_Shortly after Nyssa's rescue by the young woman, whose name Nyssa had learned was Talia, they arrived at a neighboring village. In her distressed state she could barely make out the words that Talia whispered to her as she set her down in front of one of the elders of the village, something about Nyssa staying here._

_As terrified as Nyssa was of the behemoth of a man that shadowed Nyssa's rescuer, she knew she also did not want to be parted from the woman either. As Talia moved to let go of Nyssa's hand and stand up, Nyssa had thrown herself back into the black clad arms of Talia al Ghul. She sobbed and begged her not to leave her, the addled seven-year-old worried about what would happen to her if the woman with the soft sweet words left, while simultaneously worried what would happen if she stayed._

_Talia had looked helplessly up at the masked man she had called Bane, who gave her no advice. Nyssa had not learned to read Bane's expressions behind his mask yet, as she tried to look at the man as little as possible, but thinking back to that day she knew the expression he had given Talia that night was one of mild amusement, as if he was waiting to see what Talia would choose to do._

_And Talia had chosen to bring Nyssa back with her._

_The monastery in the Himalayans was only one of the many bases for the League of shadows, but it was also the one R'as al Ghul favored most. It had been there Talia had returned with the out of place little girl in tow, and there that Nyssa had spent most of her younger years with the League, and Talia and Bane._

_R'as had been opposed to Talia's decision at first, telling her to take little Nyssa back. The League was no place for children he had said. But Talia had been persuasive, and in the end, Nyssa was put in the young woman's care._

_As the weeks passed Nyssa grew more comfortable in her new home, and with her new family. She spent more time watching Talia and Bane, and their interactions, and something about the way Bane spoke with Talia, looked at her, and reacted to her, had softened Nyssa's heart to the intimidating man. Nyssa soon began to realize, even at her young age, that Bane was deeply devoted to her new sister, and as that realization took place, her fear of him went away._

_One night, as Bane sat quietly reading, Nyssa approached him, and speaking to him for the first time, timidly asked him if he would read to her._

The sudden buzzing of Nyssa's cell phone made her jump. She carefully marked her place in her book, and picked up the small silver square. There was only one contact she kept in her phone, so she knew without looking at the screen that is was Talia. She hit the receive button quickly, answering with a curt greeting.

"It's time." Talia's voice was quick and to the point. "The pilot will be expecting you at 12:30, which gives you almost an hour to get to the private airstrip. You must leave now however, we begin in the morning."

Nyssa's heartbeat fluttered as she stood, slipping her book into one of her suitcases, and turning to check the room to be sure nothing important would be forgotten, she pressed the phone against her ear almost painfully. This would be the last time she'd ever hear Talia's voice again.

"Talia," she almost choked out her sister's name, and the words she had carefully crafted in her mind evaporated, but Talia finished for her.

"I love you Nyssa, you will live to make me proud, I know it." Her voice was soft again, like it was when she had spoken soothingly to a terrified little girl eighteen years ago.

"I love you too Talia." Nyssa whispered back to the cold plastic in her hands.

The line clicked, and Nyssa numbly slipped the phone into her pocket. Only then did the sentiments that fled her mind earlier return. Nyssa whisked away an escaped tear in frustration as she went to the door, and gathered her luggage quickly. She slid back the deadbolt and wrenched the knob, letting the door swing wide open so she could pull her bags through with her.

However she was stopped dead in her tracks before she could even cross the threshold. A dark figure filled her doorway, fisted hand raised as if to knock on the door that had just been pulled open. A face that could only originate from nightmares grinned down at her, eyes black pits like the empty sockets of a skull. The red slash across the mouth, and the greasy moss colored hair the only things ruining the skeletal appearance.

Nyssa recognized the visage of the Joker from newspaper articles she had glanced at but never paid any attention too. Why should she care, the man was news of a different time and world to her. Now she stood in absolute disbelief that such a person would ever darken her doorstep, staring up blankly at him in a state of shock. Why was he here? What possible reason could there be?

The purple gloved fist turned to knock on the molding of Nyssa's doorway instead.

"Knoc**k**. Knoc**k**."

He accentuated each spoken knock with a rap at the door frame, putting dark emphasis on the k's.

With that Nyssa's brain finally kicked into gear, she dropped her luggage, and slipped her hand into her pocket, removing her pocket knife with a speed that surprised her. The blade flipped out and streaked up to meet the enemy in a graceful arch that would have made any of her instructors proud had she ever managed to execute such a move during her myriad training sessions.

However the terrifying clown in her doorway managed to jump back in time to miss the knife's edge, throwing out a leg simultaneously, kneeing Nyssa in the gut. A hand clamped down on her wrist, twisting it painfully. She clenched onto the handle of her knife stubbornly, knowing she couldn't loose her only weapon, but another sharp twist made her fingers loosen, and the blade clattered to the ground.

"That's not how the joke goes. You're supposed to answer 'whose there?'" He called out in a sing-song voice, his hand still gripping her wrist painfully.

Nyssa responded by sending a fist into the man's solar plexus, causing him to double over with a sharp exhale, and release her wrist. The joker giggled unnervingly, and before she could turn to run, had thrown himself at her, bringing them both down to the hard floor with a crash.

"Well if you're not going to play along I guess I'll just have to cut straight to the punch line," he said as Nyssa struggled to free herself from the weight pinning her down. A damp, sweet-smelling cloth was shoved roughly into her face, and Nyssa instinctively held her breath. Her rebellion didn't last long however, as a fist to the stomach soon had her gasping for air.

The more she struggled to get out from under the soaked rag, the deeper her breathing became, and her vision started to become fuzzy. Her kicking and fighting began to grown weaker, until finally her limbs fell heavily to the floor in defeat. The unnerving feeling of falling into a black abyss overtook her, and soon after that, unconsciousness.

* * *

**AN: Thanks for keeping up with me you few who are following, and sorry for the wait, this chapter turned out longer then I had originally planned.**

**I have this paranoid feeling that the views on this fic will plummet after I'd said it won't be a romance, but I guess I'll find out lol.**

**Note about the random-ass title of this chapter: I didn't know what to call this one, and a friend mentioned how the ending reminded her of taken, and we both enjoyed a nice mental scene of Bane giving Joker the 'I don't know who you are,' speech over the phone. To which I figured Joker would still answer with 'Good luck' simply because he's a troll. That's all .**

**Crow T R0bot: I completely agree! I was hoping for a hint at least of what the Jokers fate had been in the movie, and was also disappointed. Fortunately the book gave a teensy clue in the form of one line: "The worst of the worst were sent here (Blackgate), except for the Joker, who, rumor had it, was locked away as Arkham's sole remaining inmate."**

**So that's where I started with this fic. Also fortunately there is that nice little time gap in the movie between when Bane took the City and Batman comes back that you don't see much happening, so that is where this fic is being inserted. **

**I will not be altering the plot/outcome of the movie, but that's all the info I'll be giving away for now, the rest will be revealed as the story progresses. ;)**

**And thanks for the review 3**


	5. Take control of your city

Jeremiah Arkham marched quickly past the reception desk, and through the doors that led to the staff only areas of Arkham asylum. No one was manning the nurse's station he noticed as he passed it, but that wasn't unusual these days, especially as they only had one nurse for the overnight shift. He guessed the staff would be together, either in the kitchen or the rec room as both areas were staff favorites for idling time away.

He checked both places, moving as quickly as possible through the vast building, but found no one. Worry began to gnaw at him. He had told the day nurse yesterday that he would be arriving this morning; she had to have told the night staff, they should be expecting him. So where was everyone? Moving into a brisk trot Arkham began calling out as he moved along the hallway that led to the stairwell, to the lower levels, and the solitary wing, but no one answered.

His stomach was clenched with fear by the time he reached the bottom of the stairs, and turned into the solitary ward. The place was nearly black, as no sunlight could reach this level, so Arkham reached a trembling hand out to flip a switch, turning on the flickering fluorescent lights. A long, grey, narrow hallway stretched before him, lined with doors on the right side. There were thirty padded cells in the ward, barely enough back when Arkham was full with the criminally insane, but now a ridiculously excessive amount for their one patient.

Jeremiah began walking down the hallway apprehensively, but he didn't have far to go. The second cell door was ajar he noticed as he approached, conspicuous against the long row of closed doors. The trepidation grew in him as he slowly leaned his head around the doorframe to peer into the room. What he saw in the cell made him want to vomit.

The bodies of the two dead orderlies littered the room like discarded laundry. Dr. Arkham recognized the still form of Greg in the middle of the padded cell; dried blood soaked his neck, white uniform, and the floor beneath him. Wes was partially propped against the wall the door was on, a syringe protruding from his eye socket.

Jeremiah fled the nightmarish scene, and made his way back up stairs as fast as his legs could carry him. He started towards his office, pulling his cell phone from his pocket as he went, and dialing 911 with fumbling fingers, than held the phone against his ear. It was clear the Joker was loose, there would be no reason for him to stick around the asylum, the rest of the city needed to be warned. Fleetingly the doctor worried about the fate of the night nurse, and wondered if the patient had taken her hostage.

"911, what's the nature of your emergency?" Came a calm feminine voice from his cell phone.

"This is Dr. Jeremiah Arkham, I am currently at Arkham asylum, there has been a breakout, and two deaths last night. I need the police immediately!" Jeremiah kept his voice reasonably level as he talked, much to his relief. As he talked he entered the elevator and hit the button for the top floor where his office was located.

"I'm sorry Doctor, but all units are currently busy with a very important task. I can send a unit down as soon as possible, but it may be a few hours."

Arkham made a sound of frustration in the back of his throat. What could possibly be going on that every unit in the city was busy?

"Ma'am, do you even remember who our patient is? We only have the one!" His forced calm was beginning to crumble as he snapped at the dispatcher.

There was a slight pause on the other line, and Jeremiah was beginning to think she may not know that the asylum was now only home to the most successful domestic terrorist Gotham had ever seen. However he soon heard the muffled sound of talking in the background over the phone as she spoke hurriedly to the other dispatchers. She spoke to him again, and the level of seriousness in her voice now told the doctor that she did indeed remember the reign of terror the Joker had inflicted on the city.

"We'll try and get a hold of the deputy commissioner Dr. Arkham, and maybe call in some state troopers while we're at it. In the mean time, perhaps you should go home and lock up," she suggested.

He sighed as he reached the hallway that led to his office, still walking at a quick pace, "I'm already home, but don't worry, I'll lock the door," he said wearily.

After confirming he would call if anything new developed, he ended the call, and slipped the cell into his pocket, producing the keys to his office door instead. However, as he grabbed the knob to insert the key he discovered it was already unlocked. Apprehension gripped his insides again, as he knew he had locked the door before going on vacation. Feet firmly rooted in place he stretched out his arm, and slowly pushed the door open, letting it swing in.

The morning sun shone brightly through the large windows in the room. His office was almost completely as he had left it, for one exception. The body of Stephanie Dia hung from a rope over his desk, a red smile painted over her face. Her wrists were tied to a short plank, which held her arms apart so that in death she could hold up the homemade banner reading 'Welcome home Jerry!' in large, dripping red letters.

-0-

Nyssa groaned, and stirred stiffly from oblivion. She lifted her head from her arm where it rested, and a headache immediately stabbed at her skull. She tried to cradle her aching head in her hands, but was impeded when her wrists snapped taunt against restraints with a metallic clinking. Nyssa attempted to open her eyes to investigate but a harsh, artificial light stabbed at her eyes. She clamped her lids shut again, but not before noticing she was in a dark room, and the light came from a television set in front of her.

Now knowing that the painful light source emanated from before her, she turned her head to the side and peered through squinted eyelids into the dark room. 'Always mind your surroundings' was a mantra that had been drilled into her from childhood, and she had not forgotten it even now in her disoriented state. She let her eyes grow used to the darkly shadowed room, the shifting light coming from the T.V. that droned quietly and incoherently to her confused mind and ears the only illumination the room had.

The space was small from what she could tell, and ramshackle. There appeared to be a few dilapidated furnishings in the room, but Nyssa paid little attention to them besides to note their placement, and be sure there were no enemies lurking in their shadows. Finally taking stock that she was alone in the room, she slowly turned her head forward, her eyes now adjusting to the fickle light playing from the television screen. She paid no attention to what it displayed however, and instead focused her attention on her arms, noting her wrists being clad in hand cuffs, and the cuffs themselves being tethered to a ring in the steel table before her with a sturdy padlock.

She found she could stand from the uncomfortable wooden chair she was seated at, as her feet were not similarly restrained. However, the table appeared to be bolted to the floor of the room, and standing was not only awkward tied to the table as she was, but also aggravated her headache. Resuming her seat she concentrated on putting together where she might possibly be. The room had no windows, and the floor looked to be cement, which could indicate she was in a cellar, or basement of some type. However she could hear no sounds from outside, nor was there anything in the room itself to give her any further clue beyond that.

Her headache was finally starting to subside into a dull pain, and with nothing new to learn about her surroundings, she concentrated instead on what she might be doing here. Nyssa fidgeted nervously as she recalled the terrifying image of the Joker in her doorway, and tried to imagine some reasonable explanation as to why he attacked and knocked her out. She searched her memory for any small amount of information she could remember about the terrifying man.

Nyssa had been seventeen when the story of The Joker Attacks hit the news, not only in Gotham, but across much of the US as well. She had just moved to Seattle, and was in the process of applying for university. Being that she had been essentially homeschooled, and in America on a student visa, there was a lot that needed to be done and she was sufficiently distracted enough by this to not pay much more than a glancing interest to a story in the back of the newspaper. Even then the only reason it had caught her attention was because of her adopted family's connection with the city.

Beyond that there was another news article she had watched on television when the Joker was finally apprehended that she remembered a little better. It described the man as being totally deranged, and followed with a long list of psychological problems doctors theorized he had. Nyssa merely remembered thinking the Joker was not a surprising creature to be born of a city so twisted itself.

Now that she was actively thinking about it, there was really nothing more in the press about the Joker after that. Even in Gotham, where his madness had scarred the people here forever, it was as if they were trying to forget about him, expunge the clown and his actions from history. No one mentioned him, and there were no news stories or articles in remembrance of those he killed. Even on Harvey Dent day, a day that could easily be blamed on the Joker's involvement, no one blamed the clown, all the blame was placed squarely on the Batman. The Joker was a dirty secret Gotham had hidden away in the basement fearful of the neighbors seeing.

And now he was loose apparently, and for some random reason had her chained to a table in a basement. Nyssa began to entertain the idea that there was no method to the madness in this. Perhaps she was simply destined to be the next body found in the city dump…

As the depressing idea settled in, the squawking of the T.V. finally caught her attention for more than a glance this time. It appeared the channel was set to the cable news network, GCN, and live footage of the mayor as he entered the VIP entrance of a sports stadium played on the screen. A number of reporters were trying to get quotes from the Mayor about the upcoming football game. One of the reporters shoved a microphone in the mayor's face and shouted over the others.

"Mr. Mayor! We're seeing literally thousands of police heading into the sewers-"

"A training exercise, that's all." The mayor answered without missing a beat.

Other questions were shouted as he put on a yellow and black cap, and disappeared into the stadium entrance. The scene on the television changed to some sort of pregame coverage, but Nyssa had already stopped paying attention. She had known in the back of her mind from the moment she regained awareness that it was likely she'd missed the plane out of Gotham. However the T.V. had confirmed her fears just now. _'Police heading into the sewers…' _It was impossible that this wasn't part of Bane's intricate plan.

Soon, very soon, this city would see its true reckoning, and Nyssa would be trapped here with the rest of them. Part of her celebrated in resignation, perhaps she could see her family one more time. Maybe when the time came, she could even be with them. But then she remembered where she was, and realized that not even this wish would be granted to her.

Nyssa laid her head back down on her arms, and let the tears roll over the bridge of her nose, and down her cheek unchecked.

-0-

Jeremiah pulled into his large, elegant driveway, and looked up at his beautiful home. His eyes didn't see the lovely brick and ivy building though, they were too tired, and careworn. After he had called the emergency dispatcher again and reported the third death, he immediately went back downstairs, and to his car. He did not wish to share the company of the dead any longer.

As he stepped from the vehicle, his one happy thought was that his wife was still away on their unfinished vacation. She had planned to leave for home tomorrow, but now Arkham felt he should call her, and tell her to just stay there until he could be sure it was safe here again.

He pulled out his phone, resolved to do just that as he reached his front door. Before he could even dial the first number however, the world began to rumble. Explosions sounded all over the city. Jeremiah's first instinct was to duck into the house for safety. He fumbled with the keys, and unlocked the door hastily, falling into his home as the detonations continued to rock Gotham from seemingly all points around the doctor's estate. Jeremiah could only fleetingly wonder in panic how the Joker could work so quickly.

-0-

Nyssa stared blankly ahead at the television, not really watching as the young boy sang the United States national anthem. She remained lost in thought even at kickoff. It wasn't until the first rumbling explosion sounded in the distance that she snapped out of her indifferent state. She flinched involuntarily at each new reverberation as she hoped the explosions wouldn't knock the building down on top of her.

The loud booming continued for several moments, and as they came to an end she focused shakily on the television set in front of her. Miraculously neither the cable, nor the electricity to the building had been knocked out, and the scene displayed on the screen was of the football stadium field in a smoking wreck. A crater remained where the field had once been.

The cameras zoomed in as several figures marched out into what remained of the ruined stadium turf. Her heart skipped a beat as Nyssa recognized Bane. Even in her tumultuous sate she managed to feel her spirit swell with pride as the masked man picked up the umpires microphone, and called out to the audience, "Gotham! Take control of your city!"

-0-

The Joker piled into the brown station wagon's passenger side seat, hyena-like laughter ripping from his mouth as panicked civilians rushed from the Gotham Rogues stadium. Melvin didn't need to be told to drive as he climbed behind the wheel, he knew they were done here. He took off, the crowd parting before them.

Joker had insisted they come to the stadium to see what would unfold today. Melvin was against the idea, and tried to explain that it could be very dangerous, but the madman seemed entirely unconcerned about their well being. So, the Joker-in some of Melvin's clothing, sans his makeup, and with a scarf wrapped around the lower half of his face-and he went to the Rogues game. They sat in the nosebleeds section, and Melvin bought a hot dog.

When all hell broke loose, the boss watched with child-like glee as the football field swallowed up the players of both teams. He started giggling quietly to himself as some people stood to try and run from the stands only to be stopped by men toting guns who stood guard at the exits. The laughter was barely contained throughout Banes speech, and they started receiving worried glares from their neighbors in the stands. When Bane broke the neck of the one man who could disarm the nuclear bomb that was dragged out into the field, the Joker's laughter could no longer be contained. Luckily it was drowned out by the screaming of the crowd. After that Bane had informed the public to basically go home, and hold onto their asses (albeit more eloquently then Melvin could have put it).

As they drove back Melvin took note of the broken condition that some of the streets had been left in from the explosions that had gone off over the entire city. Beside him the Joker had stopped laughing, his sharp, dark eyes now taking in the damage with dangerous amusement.

"Well it looks like our boy Bane was a little less vanilla then we first thought," he mused in excitement. "The man's got flair I'll give him that, but he still made one. _Huge._ Mistake." The Joker turned to look at Melvin, the grin on his face doing nothing to hide the feral glint in his eyes. "You can't give away something that doesn't belong to you. And Gotham is _mine_."

-0-

Nyssa awoke groggy, stiff, and thirsty. The room was still empty and dark, and the T.V. still droned in front of her. Judging by the time displayed on the news ticker on screen she could tell she'd now been tied to this table for over twenty-four hours. Irritably she began to wonder if the Joker put her here to let her die of dehydration.

After Bane's display in the football stadium yesterday the news channel had been ablaze with reporters trying to convey all the information they could humanly gather, and occasional announcements from the White House, and even a speech from the President. The devoted reporters promised to keep the people of Gotham informed as much as they could, however it was obvious that eventually there was just no more information to be had. Soon the television started replaying reports and announcements more frequently, and in the end Nyssa lost interest, and had fallen into a fitful sleep for the rest of the night.

Nyssa fidgeted dejectedly with the handcuffs around her wrist, and studied the television to see if any new information could be had. Suddenly the single door to the room burst open with an explosive bang, causing Nyssa to start violently, and a compulsive squeak to leave her mouth before she could stifle it.

"Honey, I'm home!" The shadows of the room cast an inhuman darkness over the Jokers already bizarre features as he entered. Nyssa knew she was staring at him with an expression of mixed anger and fear, but she couldn't look away.

He reached out along the wall and flipped a switch there, flooding the room with dim light from a hanging bulb. Nyssa squinted for a moment, but her eyes adjusted quickly. She studied the clown's form carefully as he stalked forward, shoulders hunched in an odd, uncomfortable looking angle. '_Stand tall and straight or your opponent will easily knock you down' _was an adage taught by one of the many instructors she'd had over her young life who attempted to hammer any sort of training into her that would stick. He had been just as unsuccessful as the rest.

The Joker stopped in front of the table, the jarring grin that never quite reached his eyes looked down on her, and he suddenly dropped a plastic bottle of water down before her. She started again, and the creep laughed hysterically.

"A little jumpy aren't we? I haven't even done anything to you. _Yet_."

Nyssa suppressed a shudder at the emphasis he put on the last word, and resolved to stop wearing her emotions on her sleeves. She tried desperately to center herself, and was reminded of another lesson: never show emotion to an enemy. One could learn everything about their adversary by studying their emotions, and watching the eyes, including what their next movie will be.

Nyssa did not trust herself to be able to study her enemy's eyes in this instance however without unintentionally giving her own thoughts away, so instead she studied the water bottle on the table in front of her.

"Not very talkative either," he added in his oddly pitched voice.

A small bag of potato chips was also tossed onto the table next to the bottled water, and the padlock connecting her handcuffs to the table was unlocked, though the handcuffs remained. Nyssa gratefully drew her cramped arms back to herself, rubbing the stiff muscles of her upper arms. She stared suspiciously at the food and water before her however, unwilling to take it despite her thirst and hunger.

"It's not _poisoned_," he tried to reassure her in a very un-reassuring tone. The way he dragged out the word 'poisoned' made Nyssa glare up at him briefly before letting her eyes drop back down to her hands.

"Look princess, if I wanted to kill you, poisoning would be my last choice. I prefer the much _messier_ techniques myself." He pulled out a switchblade and twirled it playfully in his fingers for emphasis.

Nyssa watched the knife warily, letting his words sink in. Suddenly death by poisoning wasn't looking so bad. She picked up the water bottle and downed nearly half of it in a flash, then preformed a disappearing trick on the potato chips. Washing them down with the last of the water, she looked back up at him resolutely.

"Good girl," he praised mockingly.

"What am I doing here?" She asked firmly, willing strength into her voice as she glared up at her captor.

"Holy shit, it speaks!" He exclaimed in an overly hammy expression of shock. Nyssa refused to dignify the over exaggeration with a response.

Before the clown could continue however, the television set caught both of their attentions. On screen a reporter out on the streets was briskly moving towards a gathering of people, the camera man running behind him making the screen jump around jarringly until he stopped next to the reporter.

"We are out in front of Blackgate Prison, where a group of military vehicles have come to rest. Sources say the terrorist leader is here."

The camera swung back around to get a better view of the scene in front of the prison, and sure enough three desert cammo painted, tank-like vehicles were coming to rest outside the building. From the lead vehicle, the familiar, hulking form of Bane appeared. Nyssa couldn't help the look of intensity that flashed across her face at that moment, and as the Joker looked back at her pointedly she felt her stomach plummet. He couldn't know of her connection to Bane could he, was this why she was here? And if it was all about Bane, could he also know about Talia?

Swallowing thickly Nyssa forced her face into neutrality as she continued to watch the events unfold, and the Joker turned his attention back to the screen. Bane had climbed atop one of the vehicles, and was now addressing the crowd. As he spoke of the late Harvey Dent, and held up the photo of the once handsome public servant, she heard the Joker issue a low chuckle, as if sharing an inside joke. He seemed completely riveted to the screen as Bane removed the Commissioners speech and read it to the crowd.

Nyssa herself watched with rapt interest as the words revealed the truth about Gotham's 'White Knight' and the crowd began to grow restless, and angry. Could she blame them? Nyssa had studied the Dent act herself. She knew just how borderline Constitution breaking it was. But the people of Gotham had clung to it like a life ring for years. Now that the truth of their would-be hero was revealed they felt duped, and those who had family members and friends inside the prison felt rage.

Bane whipped the crowd into a frenzy, and at the crescendo one of the tanks fired at the wall of the prison. Nyssa could feel this victory for Bane, she knew of his hatred for prisons and jailors. She had no doubt that in the end there would be nothing left of this building.

Slowly Nyssa became aware that the Joker was laughing. And not a quiet chuckle like before, but a great whooping '_WOOO-HAHAHA'_ as he clutched his middle, and slapped his thigh in mirth. As he finished he stood straight again, and mimed wiping tears from his eyes.

"Now that's what I like to see. All of my hard work bearing fruit in the end," he mused gleefully. "Granted, Mister Congeniality there needs to be informed who laid down the foundations for his little liberation, but, that will come in time."

He fixed Nyssa with another intense stare, a self important smirk playing on his lips. "And that, to answer your question, is where you come in."

-0-

Late that night, as mobs of looters ransacked the city, gunfire and screaming rung in the air, and fires burned, a wraith clad in black moved swiftly, and silently through the shadows. Miranda Tate had told the other board members she would only be going down to investigate, and that she would try to gather some supplies to help them last in the security of the Wayne Corp tower. A few had protested, worried for her safety, however she won in the end by convincing them that she was the most logical choice to go out, being the youngest person present. Her intentions though were not actually information, and supply gathering, she had a meeting to attend.

She made her way to City Hall without incident, as the crazed mob would've had to have seen her before they could intercept her, and was soon in an abandoned office on the top floor. The building was serving as the temporary base for Bane and his liberation. He was not in the dark room yet, but Talia knew he would be here tonight, so she found a deeply shadowed corner and hid. Thankfully She did not have long to wait. Soon the door to the office opened, and Bane entered, careful to close the door behind him. No one could see this meeting tonight, as there was still much at stake.

Once she was sure it was Bane who had entered, Talia stood from her hiding place, and the shift of shadows caught his attention. She crossed the room swiftly, and stood before him, removing the hood of her black sweater. No words were necessary for the moment as they studied each other's gazes, simply drinking in one another's presence.

Bane moved first, lifting his hand and running it through Talia's hair, letting the strands fall through his fingers like water, his steely eyes soft as he beheld her. Soundlessly Talia broke, falling into his embrace, and they stood there for several long minutes, treasuring a moment they may not be able to share again.

Bane ended the silence first, though he did not release her. "Have you established yourself with the other board members?"

"Yes, we are barricaded in the top floors of Wayne Tower," she spoke softly into his chest.

"Is Lucius Fox with the others?" He questioned. They both knew that at this point Fox was the only man who could stabilize the core by reconnecting it to the reactor, and keeping tabs on him was important.

Talia replied in affirmation, and silence reigned for a moment more. Finally she broke the embrace, knowing that their time together must end soon if she were to return without drawing suspicion from the other board members. However there was one more matter that burdened her thoughts, and as she looked up at her protector solemnly, he did not have to ask to know something was not right.

"Nyssa did not get on the jet last night. The pilot called and informed me she never arrived," she spoke softly, worry weighing down her voice. "Has she contacted you?"

Bane slowly shook his head in consternation, "It is not impossible that she left the city in another method, but," he paused his eyes hardening in thought, "it is unlikely."

His words were not spoken harshly, but the effect was still the same on Talia. They both knew the truth, if she had not left the city, then she either stayed by choice, or something prevented her from leaving. And in a city like Gotham, there were many dangers to prevent a person from reaching their destination.

As hard as it was however, Talia could not dwell on it. "If she contacts you, send her to me. I may be able to find a use for her," she said resolutely.

Bane nodded, "I will be watchful for any information of her whereabouts. However," he studied Talia carefully, knowing his words would be blunt, "no matter her circumstance, if she is still in the city, we must concede ourselves to the fact that in the end, her fate will still be the same as ours."

Talia nodded slowly in reluctant acceptance. She knew from the moment the pilot called her, and all the worry she could harbor would not change this fact. The wheels were in motion now, and even though Nyssa was caught up with them, willingly or not, the fire would still rise, nothing would stop that, and this still gave Talia comfort.

Bane hooked a finger under her chin, gently pulling her eyes back to his. She softened, letting the edges of her mouth curl up in a slight smile for him, and reached a hand up to place on the back of his neck, pulling him down so she could plant a small, tender kiss on his forehead, before pulling her hood back up, and leaving the room.


	6. Criminals Aren't Complicated

It had been a few days since the liberation of every criminal held in Blackgate Prison by Bane and the throng of disgruntled Gothamites. The first two nights had been the worst, with rampant mobs running the streets, looting, destroying property, and killing those unfortunate enough to be a target, or even just get in the way. Families hunkered down at home behind locked doors, holding each other tight. Many were lucky, and managed to remain safe. Some were not so fortunate though, particularly those in Gotham's upper-class. Mansions, penthouses, and condos were raided, the families living there dragged into the streets to meet grisly fates, and the spoils of their homes were enjoyed by the rabid mob. The people of Gotham were eating each other.

Times were never better for some however. Joseph Rossi - former right-hand man to Carmine Falcone, turned two-bit drug dealer working under Sal Maroni after Falcone's incarceration, turned Blackgate prisoner when everything went to hell eight years ago - was currently on top of the world. And things could only go up from there.

When Bane busted everyone out, a large fraction of the inmates happily picked up guns and followed after Bane and his men, ready to throw in their chips with who they saw as the guy on top. Some, like Rossi, however, wanted to claim a piece of this new Gotham for themselves. So Joseph pulled together a group of men who he'd worked with before, wise guys he trusted from both the Falcone and Maroni families, and even a couple of Russians. Together, with him calling the shots, they managed to take control of Maroni's old territory.

There had been very little competition in the chaos following the prison break, though a few other gangs had formed with the same idea as Rossi, none of them were big enough to oppose him. They either stayed out of Rossi's hood, joined him, or were put out of commission. And as for Bane and his people, so long as Rossi left them alone, they seemed to care less what Gotham's mafia was doing.

Rossi had plans for taking more of the city, but until then, he needed to gather supplies, and more men. Joseph and his gang raided the neighborhood stores and restaurants, taking anything they could use before the looters could pass through, and stored it all in their current base of operations, one of the cities bigger clubs, The Cauldron. The building was large enough to house most of them, had a basement where all of the supplies could be stored safely, and was easily defendable. They even had a few generators ferreted away under the building for when the power inevitably went out. Joseph always believed in being prepared, and he'd be damned if he had to give up his hard won chunk of Gotham because he and his men starved, or froze to death.

The club was also fully stocked with alcohol, and had an amazing sound system, so that on days like today, when Rossi and his men could just kick back and relax, they could do so in style. The house lighting was down low, but the regular strobes and neon lights that would flash from all directions were turned off. They always gave Rossi a headache anyways. The speakers pounded with a fast, exhilarating beat, and drinks were already being passed around. Joseph leaned his back against the bar, and shouted for someone to pass him a rum and coke.

Not all of the guys were in here having fun though. Joseph always had a large force of men on the outside, and inside of the building guarding entrances and windows. It was a strange new world out there, and besides the rioters, Bane, and rival gangs to be wary of, there was also a herd of freshly released weirdoes on the streets. Rossi had spent time with a few of these whack-jobs who had been moved over from Arkham while he was in Blackgate, so he knew enough to be on guard while the deranged ran in the streets.

"Hey, boss, Tony's back with the tail!" One of the guys shouted rowdily as the front doors swung open, and a group of scantily clad women started to filter in.

Rossi had sent one of the guys off an hour ago to round up any prostitutes he could find. Not an easy task considering anyone with half a brain would be hiding safely behind doors. But Tony had a reputation for knowing the streetwalkers in this town well, and probably knew where many of them would be holed up at. He watched the women lustfully as they spread out into the club, waiting for one to catch his interest. It had been far too long since he had a good lay.

Most of the men had been in prison for eight long, lonely years, so it was no surprise that every man in the room was vying for a girl, and a fist fight had already broken out. Rossi began to consider pulling rank and just charging in to grab his piece of flesh when a flash of red and blonde in his peripheral vision caught his attention. One of the women had broken away from the rest of the group, and stood at the end of the bar, next to the wall, facing slightly away from him.

The low lighting in the room made details hard to see from a distance, but from what Rossi could tell she was tall, and wore a very short red and black dress. Her shoulders were a little too wide, and hips a little too narrow for his taste, but she had some killer legs. And Joseph always preferred blondes.

Picking up his glass he stalked down to the end of the bar, and slid onto a stool next to her. "Lookin' for a drink sweetheart?" he asked slickly.

However, the smirk playing on his lips vanished in an instant as she turned around. A ghastly white face, red smeared lips, and eyes circled with too much black makeup could easily be a description given to many prostitutes in Gotham. But the face that Rossi saw was no woman's, it belonged to the Joker. The image of Gotham's very own terrorist in a wig and skirt would be comical if he wasn't aware of what this man was capable of doing. Joseph swallowed thickly.

"Hiya Puddin'," the Joker whispered huskily at him in a parody of seduction.

With those words Joseph thrust himself into action. His hand shot up into his suit jacket after his gun, and he shouted for the attention of his men. Before he could even grip the handle of his weapon however, the Joker had a knife pressed against his jugular. He batted Rossi's hand away and reached into his jacket to pull the gun from its holster, looking at it, and then back to Rossi with a brief look of mock disappointment.

"What'sa matter, I'm not pretty enough for you?" The Jokers face was inches from his own now, and he spoke with a hint of wheezy laughter barely in check.

Joseph had worked with the clown once before, back when he ran with Maroni, and when the Joker had promised to eliminate the thorn in the mob's side called Batman. Rossi had been given the job of relaying instructions to the dirty cops who were to pick up Dent and his girl. Detective Wuertz was the cop watching Rossi's drug dealing operations, and thus was already being paid off by him. The Joker had come by to tell Joseph in very explicit detail who was to be taken where. The experience had been thankfully brief, and Joseph never had to deal with the clown again, until today.

By now the loud bumping music had been turned down, and the other wise guys in the club all had their attentions trained on what was going on in the corner, Joseph's shouted warning having made them all look over to him. The Joker roughly flipped Joseph around so that his back was to the clown like a human shield, and pushed the knife harder into his throat. Rossi remained as still as he could to avoid an accidental slice of the blade. Seeing the flash of the knife reflexively made half the room pull guns, and the sound of the myriad weapons cocking filled the air.

"Oh, was this a B.Y.O.G. party?" The Joker asked Rossi whimsically. "I must have forgotten mine. Luckily I brought this little shiny along with me instead," he played the blade across Rossi's neck dramatically. "So how about you guys put those away before I give 'lover boy' something to smile about. And it won't be in the way Joey here was hoping."

Rossi motioned frantically for the men to put the guns down with his hands, as sweat beaded on his forehead. Muzzles were slowly lowered, and some were put away, though many remained in their owner's hands. Joker seemed unfazed though, apparently secure with his human shield.

"Don't anyone fret those little heads of yours though, because some of you will get to keep your precious guns. I come to you fine gentlemen with a proposition." The room was quiet as everyone listened to what the Joker would say, including Joseph. "I'm taking back my city, and I'll need some help doing it. That's where all of you fit in. All I need is a little co-operation until I take down the big guy with the spaghetti colander on his face. Once that's done, you'll be free to play in as much of Gotham as you like. It will be like home sweet anarchy. So any volunteers?"

There was a slight shuffling of feet as the group looked around at each other gauging who would be taking the Joker up on this insane proposition. No one looked quite convinced, but neither did anyone believe for one second that the Joker would really leave the choice up to them. Dino, one of the newer men to join the gang, was the first to make a decision. Quietly, he tucked his gun into his pants, and marched up to the bar, to stand next to the Joker. Several more men followed soon after.

"And what happens to anyone who don't wanna join you huh?" An angry voice shouted from the back.

"Anyone who doesn't want to stay to help out will be set free, along with Joey here. I'm sure you'll all have so much fun _hanging out_ too." He petted Rossi affectionately on the head.

There was more foot shuffling, and uncertain glances around the room, and a couple last minute joiners, but soon it was apparent the crowd had made its decision.

"Ok, you've got the men you need, I take it you're keeping my club, just get yer hands off a' me and let us go!" Joseph snapped desperately. Some of the men that had defected to the Joker looked at their old boss with thinly veiled contempt as she stood there sweating bullets, one step away from begging for his life.

"Sure thing buddy," he replied, giving Rossi a cheerful pinch on the cheek with his free hand. "Hey but first, we're gonna need all your guns. Bullets may be cheap, but firearms aren't." He motioned for the men left standing on the other side of the room to place their weapons on the ground. The room fell silent as they reluctantly complied, and the music still playing quietly from the stereos was more audible. A very familiar beat started playing as the song switched, and Joker smirked to himself.

Looking over at the men who had joined him, he nodded his head in the direction of their former comrades. "Ok boys, set 'em free." He punctuated his words with a dramatic flourish of his hands, the one holding the knife to Rossi's throat swept across flesh in an almost graceful arch. Blood speckled across the white greasepaint of his face as he let the body slump to the floor, and held his arms out expressively, indicating the freedom he referred to.

There was a slight pause on both sides of the room, but the reprieve was short lived, as the sound of gunfire almost drowned out the music completely. The Joker grabbed Rossi's confiscated gun from the bar behind him where he'd placed it, and joined in on gunning the men loyal to the would-be mob boss down.

"I know its cliché, but I've always wanted to be in a shoot-out while 'Another One Bites the Dust' played," he said with a grin to no one in particular, as he fired his weapon to the sound of the beat.

-0-

John Blake walked briskly down the street, the collar of his coat pulled up, and the brim of a hat pulled down to help hide his face. The new place he and Gordon were staying at was very temporary, especially since a gang of former mafia members had taken this district as their territory. And if he and the commissioner had any hope of not being caught they needed to move again. So John was out scoping for a possible change of venue.

Blake knew he was reaching the edge of Joseph Rossi's neighborhood when he crossed the street at 119th. He didn't need to get far out of Rossi's hood, in fact staying somewhere at the outskirts might serve them best. Bane seemed to be leaving the mafia alone to do what they wanted, and while Blake had no doubt that Rossi and his men would turn the two of them over for a fat reward if they found them, he also knew none of Joseph's gang would be actively searching for them. John would rather deal with the enemy he knew then the one he didn't, and in this city, he'd grown to know the mob very well.

He paused at the corner after crossing the street, and looked both ways down the city block. There was a truck traveling up the road towards him, and John had no doubt it would be Rossi's men. Very few people traveled the streets of Gotham these days, and of those few who braved the dangers outside of their hideaways for food or supplies, none of them drove for the risk of the attention it would draw. So only men confident in their ability to protect themselves drove the street.

John faltered momentarily as he tried to decide if he should run and hide at this point, or keep going on his way and hope they don't pay him any attention. The hope of the latter was a very slim one, but Blake also knew it was impossible for them to have not seen him yet, so trying to run or hide would draw even more attention to himself.

Today John was lucky however, as the truck cruised past him without incident and not even a glance from the driver in his direction. He let a sigh of relief escape his lungs, as he turned his head and watched the truck pass. The sigh caught in his throat however as he noticed what the truck's cargo was. A pile of dead bodies had been loaded onto the pickup bed, watched over by two very grim faced men who rode in the back.

The truck slowed to a halt half a block away, and John's curiosity got the best of him. As carefully as he could he approached the now parked vehicle to try and see what was going on. As he watched the men in the back jumped from where they sat, and began to haul one of the bodies from the truck. Blake immediately noticed that oddly, the dead man's face had been painted white. One of the men who had pulled the body off the truck took a knife to the unnaturally pale face, and slashed his cheeks open from the corners of the mouth, almost all the way to each ear in a grotesque Glasgow Grin. Blake observed all this with quiet unease. Who exactly the dead men in the truck were, and why they were being mutilated he had no idea, but this didn't exactly strike John as typical mafia behavior.

The men were not finished yet however. Next they carried the body to the intersection lights, while a man who had been sitting in the cab of the truck threw a rope over the traffic light pole, and tied one end to the body. In a matter of moments they had heaved the body up so it hung in plain view of anyone who passed, and tied off the rope so it would stay put. As the body swung slightly from the rope, a small amount of slightly congealed blood seeped from the lacerations on its face, and trickled down the gashed cheeks leaving trails of red that looked like a melting smile.

The whole time John watched in horrified transfixion, and didn't even realize another car had pulled up behind him until a gun cocked at his ear.

"Who are you and what are you doing here?" A gruff voice asked. John raised his hands in surrender and slowly turned his head to see who had spoken to him. A man with a steep widow's peak, and dark, dirty looking hair held the gun level to Blake's face.

"Marvin, you've made a new friend, I'm so happy for you!"

The voice came from behind the man holding the gun to John, and was chillingly familiar. John risked looking around the man apparently named Marvin, and saw a figure no man woman or child who had lived in Gotham eight years ago could fail to recognize. The Joker leaned casually against the passenger side door of the car they had arrived in, and seemed to be paying more attention to the work the men in the truck were doing then to John.

The man accompanying the Joker pressed the muzzle to Blake's temple persistently. "I asked you a question."

"I-I'm just passing through…" John effected a stutter to try and appease the man with the gun, though he remained as calm as he could inwardly. He began to wonder how fast he could draw his own gun from its holster when the Joker finally turned his attention to him. He seemed to study the detective for a moment before finally speaking.

"You look familiar, do I know you from somewhere?" The clown asked.

John's hat was ripped from his head quickly by the other man so that his face was more visible. He wasn't sure why or how he could be recognized by anyone, let alone someone who was supposed to be rotting in Arkham for the past eight years.

"Hmm, did we go to high school together maybe?" The Joker continued.

_Damn unlikely_, John thought to himself as he tried to figure out what the Joker was playing at. However, a commotion at the pickup truck down the street pulled the Joker's attention from him at that moment. John turned his head back to investigate, and saw one of the previously assumed dead bodies rolling from the back of the truck, and run stumblingly towards an alleyway. The men who had ridden in the back of the truck hesitated for a moment, before making pursuit.

A growl of irritation escaped the Joker, who motioned for the man holding the gun at John to follow the escapee. He gave Blake only a cursory glance before complying, and the Joker stalked quickly after his henchman, glancing at John only long enough to wink unnervingly at him as he passed.

Astonished he'd been left alone in favor of their escaped dead man, John wasted no time in turning around, and running in the opposite direction.

-0-

Bane stood against a wall in the Gotham stock exchange building while a large group of men worked at clearing the area for what they would need it for. An elevated podium was being set up at one end of the vast hallway, what was to be the new judge's bench for the 'people's court' in Gotham now. He watched over the activity in the building sparingly, as most of his attention, and thoughts were focused on an item in his hands. The item was a small, careworn book, Nyssa's book to be exact. It was that same copy of 'To Kill a Mockingbird' he had given to her when she was a child.

The next morning after Bane's meeting with Talia, he had gone personally to where Nyssa had made her home while she was in Gotham. He had found the front door shut, but unlocked, and the apartment itself nearly untouched. There had been obvious signs of packing, and a car in front of the building with some items already loaded in the trunk, and luggage just inside the doorway. It was while inspecting her bags that he had found Nyssa's book. There were no apparent signs of a struggle in the building, however Bane was sure that whatever had caused Nyssa to leave her apartment without one of her most dear possessions, had not made her do so willingly.

His thoughts were interrupted when several shouts sounded at the entrance of the stock exchange. A man was struggling to get past two mercenaries who guarded the front doors of the room they were building their new court in. He wore what had most-likely been a fairly expensive suit once, but a rather large, fresh bloodstain that soaked his left side, and left leg had done its job in completely ruining his attire. His face was smudged in a white paint of some type. Whatever adrenalin the man had been running on when he'd tried to barge past Bane's men however was obviously wearing off now, as he began to struggle less against the mercenaries, and actually slumped slightly in their grip.

"I need to talk to Bane, it's important, he'll want to know! Please, just let me see Bane!" The man pleaded through his exhaustion.

One of the mercenaries looked over to Bane, and he nodded, allowing them to bring the disheveled man to him. As they half escorted, half dragged the stranger to him, Bane noticed that the blood staining his suit came from a bullet wound in his side. A very small trickle of red seeped from the hole as they came to a stop before him.

"I'm Tony Fabriano, I was one of Joseph Rossi's men," he stated immediately, not waiting for Bane to give him leave to speak. "The Joker is loose, he was just at Rossi's place, The Cauldron. He killed over half of Rossi's men, I just barely got away!" Fabriano spoke quickly, barely contained panic sparking in his face. He spoke as if Bane would have any concern over what he was saying.

It was true Bane had heard enough about the crazed terrorist known as the Joker to know what he was capable of. And he had had no plans to free him from his lonely prison in Arkham. But not because he was at all concerned about what the Joker would do while free in Gotham during martial law, but rather because he saw no reason to waste any thought on the man.

Bane studied the half dead man in front of him calmly before finally speaking. "And you felt this was a concern of mine?"

Fabriano seemed to be lost for words for a moment before finally gasping out a response. "But, it's the Joker. Don't you know what that whack-job could do running around out there? He's already killed Rossi, took his club, his neighborhood…"

"I gave Gotham back to the people, back to you. I have no interest in what you do with whatever piece of this city you claim. If you want back what the Joker took from you, then take it back." Bane looked down at the mobster dispassionately, and Tony stared back with incredulity.

"You don't understand, you're making a mistake-" Fabriano was cut off as the mercenaries jerked him back, and started dragging him away after a dismissive gesture from Bane.

The desperate shouting faded as the man was dragged from the building, and Bane turned to continue watching the rearrangement of the stock house. He could hardly see how the actions of a loose mad man should be any threat to him. After all, Batman had defeated the Joker, and Bane had defeated Batman. Had _broken_ him. So if the Joker proved to make a nuisance of himself in the end, Bane would simply eliminate him. Quickly, and efficiently.

Until then he'd let the Joker have his fun with the corrupt members of Gotham. If nothing else the Joker's actions today had proven one very crucial point to Bane. He was only a criminal after all, out to grab what he could by force from others. And criminals weren't complicated.

* * *

**Ok guys, I dressed the Joker in drag for you, that's worth a review or two right?**

**Bah, who am I kidding, he probably would have worn the dress just because it made him look fabulous.**

**Crow T: LOL I didn't even consider that video until now, thanks for bringing back painful memories. To this day I'm still fairly sure I've never finished that video. I think I get like a quarter of the way through and just say 'Fuck this!' each and every time. And I'm a Nostalgia Critic fan! :P**

**Melvin White was the name of the guy who owned the apartment overlooking the parade the day Joker tried to kill the Mayor in TDK. The place where the real honor guard was all tied up nekkid and in the dark. Nothing to do here...**


End file.
